The Saint didn't speak.
He didn't have to.
The presence that poured from his body was enough to choke the air. It wasn't raw magic—it was tighter, sharper. The weight of divine authority, aimed directly at Alaric like the tip of a spear.
Kaelion took one look at the armor and hissed under his breath, "He's fully invoked."
"What does that mean?" Seraphine asked, backing toward Alaric.
Kaelion didn't take his eyes off the Saint. "It means his body's just a puppet now. There's something stronger speaking through him."
Alaric flexed his fingers once. "Great. So we're not just dealing with Saints now—we're dealing with possessed ones."
The Saint stepped forward.
Alaric didn't move.
The voice echoed again—flat, hollow, not coming from the mouth but from the air itself:
> "Target has breached Crown containment limits."
> "Mirrored Anchor detected."
> "Purge protocol: 001."
Seraphine muttered, "They just called me an Anchor."
Kaelion glanced at her. "Which means you're next."
